


5 Truths Debbie Told Michael

by jeahwriting



Category: Olympics RPF, Swimming RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-25
Updated: 2013-11-25
Packaged: 2018-01-02 14:44:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1058019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeahwriting/pseuds/jeahwriting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five truths Debbie told Michael Phelps over the years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	5 Truths Debbie Told Michael

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr @ yancyybeckett (:

**I.** "You talk about Ryan a lot."

Debbie was in the kitchen when she said it and Michael looked up from his food in surprise.

“Yeah, I mean he was my rival for the longest time.  Isn’t it normal that I talk about him a lot?”

Michael watched his mom shuffle around the kitchen gathering pots and pans.  “Well, that was back when you were swimming, dear.  I mean that you still talk about him a lot.”

Michael grunted and turned back to his soup.  “He’s still on the scene isn’t he?  It’s just weird that I’m not there with him.  You know on magazines and stuff.  Or on radio shows.  I kind of wish he’d retired with me so we both could’ve disappeared together.”

Debbie frowned at her son.  “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing that you talk about him.  And you should be more supportive, dear.  God knows, that boy’s always had your back.  Even now.”

Mike shrugged.  “We were enemies mom, you’re not supposed to take his side.”

“I’m not taking anyone’s side,” Debbie sing-songed from within the kitchen.  “And there was a time you were both on the same side.  Don’t forget, you were friends first.”

**II.** “I think you might’ve been happier before.”

Michael had just gotten off the green turf of his latest golf game in New Zealand and was having lunch with his mom and sisters, all of whom he’d flown out because they’d always been dying to see the breathtaking landscape of the country.

Whitney and Hilary had gone to the bathroom together when Debbie mentioned it.

Michael stared at her, almost amused, but his mom didn’t have a hint of a smile on her face.  In fact, she looked more serious than she had in a while.

“Really, mom?  I’m living the life!  Seriously, look around, this is what anyone’s ever always wanted.  How could I not be happy.”

His mom looked around—looked at the million dollar view in front of them and the lobster on her plate.  She looked at the classy white pants and pressed shirt her son was wearing at her side.

“I think you were happier when you were still swimming.”  Debbie added.  “Or at least when you were tied to Baltimore and the pool.”

Michael’s expression clouded.  “Mom, I did all that so I could have this life one day.  So I can travel the world and play poker and golf and bring you and Hil and Whit to all the places that you’ve wanted to see.”

Debbie smiled.  “And I love you for it.  But I’m just saying that maybe you loved swimming more than you remember.  Maybe you loved being in the water more than you like the rewards.”

Michael frowned.  “All I remember is that swimming was long hours and frustration and never being as good as I wanted to be. It was always feeling like someone might beat me and getting angry enough about it to work harder.”

His mom shrugged just as Whitney and Hilary came bounding back.  “Just a thought, dear.  Now eat your food—you’re not paying all that money for this meal just to waste it.”

**III**. “Ryan looks good, doesn’t he, sweetie?”

They were at a swim event.  Michael thought that after he retired, he would be done with these pointless fundraising affairs, but somehow, being the Greatest Olympian of All Time, guaranteed Michael a space in every swim occasion for the rest of his life.  Aside from wearing the stiff black suit and talking to a few people that he had never really liked, though, Michael didn’t mind it so much.  The events were much more relaxing knowing that he didn’t have to compete for sponsors and make a good impression because, even when you were the G.O.A.T., you still had be careful not to step on any toes.

Michael looked up from where he was seated and followed his mom’s gaze to a Ryan Lochte, who was decked out in a bright red suit.  Michael almost rolled his eyes.  He had to mention to Lochte somehow that he was getting a little too old for these shenanigans.

“Yeah, I suppose he looks okay.  Too much color though.”

Debbie frowned at Michael.  “Michael.”

Michael rose his hands in defense.  “What?  I didn’t even say anything.  It’s just a bright suit.”

Debbie still had her lips pursed but turned away.  Of course that was the moment Ryan noticed the two of them and made his way over.  Lochte and his mother had always been strangely close—it was enough to confuse the living shit out of Mike sometimes.

“Debbie!”  Ryan grinned and wrapped his mom in a tight hug, and oh yeah.  That’s why Ryan looked good.  Cause sometimes when he grinned, the skin around his eyes crinkled so that he looked like he was 19 and still in college and like the entire world was his playground, which in a way it still was.  Michael could still see that same grin as he saw it in Athens and in Melbourne and in all the other swim meets before Beijing, except that when he saw that grin, he usually remembered it between sticky sheets or over early morning coffee.  “Haven’t seen you in years, great to finally see you again.”

He turned to Michael and his grin seemed just as wide, which Michael didn’t know whether to take as a punch or a blessing.  After all, how should you take it when you get a grin like that from a friend (lover) turned enemy turned stranger.

“Michael, how’s it going, old man?  How’s retired life treating you?”

“Pretty good, how’s the swimming world?  Still holding up without me?”

“Just barely.”  Ryan grinned again and Michael only noticed later how hard his heart was pounding.

**IV**. “You should let yourself be happy, Michael.”

It was around Christmas of 2014 and Michael had decided that he was tired of touring the world and squandering his money on gambling and luxurious hotels that never really felt like home anyways.  He came back to Baltimore and started helping Bob around with some of the newer swimmers, until he decided that he actually liked coaching.  Maybe it was the extra years that he had put on since the Olympics (cause he had never liked helping others improve their form before—call it a selfish notion, if you will) but, now, he loved the feeling of being in the water and seeing the younger children find their love for a sport that had become his life.

He found himself again in the pool and realized that he had been lost ever since he had left in 2012.

Finding a girl was a harder task and he found himself comparing everyone to his first love that he had lost a while ago.

He and Ryan had started calling each other up again, infrequently at first, but then more and more until it was like they were both in Athens again, meeting each other for the first time and just discovering that there was something more than the water.

The day after Christmas, when Michael was still at his mom’s house (because he always spent all of his Christmases with his family of course) he got a call from Ryan at 11 at night.

“Hello?  Ryan?  What’s up?  Are you okay?”

“Yaa mann,” Ryan slurred his words together and Michael could already tell how drunk he was.  “I just like…I’m here like at this bar and stuff and like I was just thinking that you should like be here with me, you know?  Like we should just be here together, at this bar, like together.  It’s so much nicer when you’re with me.”

“Ryan, Ryan, aren’t you supposed to be with your parents?”

“’S yesterday man.  Today ‘m with friends.  Went out with people, ‘cept you’re not here.  You should be here.”

Michael ran a hand over his face.  “Man, Ryan, you’re wasted.  Is Devon there?  Or Jones or someone?  Should I call them to get you home?”

“Don want Devon or Cullen—don’ want them.  Want you—”

“Ryan, listen to me.  Stay where you are, I’ll see when your brother is, and get him to put in a cab or something.  Man, you shouldn’t keep getting drunk like this.”

“I don’--not really.  ‘Nymore.  You know.  But today, you remember wat today is, s’right?”

“Day after Christmas?  Time to stop being holy?  Here, just don’t do anything stupid, okay?  Let me just find Devon’s number.”

“D’ya remember, winter after Athens?  Remember?  ‘S was a good year, man, real good year—”

And Michael did remember.  That was the year that they had first gotten together, and—as Michael remembered with a choked sensation—that it was 10 years ago to this day that he and Ryan had first slept together.  That was the year that he had convinced his mom and family to come to Gainesville to spend Christmas with the Lochtes where it was warmer and they didn’t have to shovel snow or huddle under ten thousand blankets just to keep warm.  After spending the previous day with their respective families, Michael and Ryan spent the whole day together, goofing around and subtly flirting until Ryan finally made a move that evening over video game controllers, and the rest was history.

“It was a good year.”  Michael said quietly into the phone.

“I didn’t—I remembered it before but like, didn’t talk much ‘til this year ‘nd thought I was over you, but never really over you Mikey.  Never could be, ‘ven when I thought I hated you cause I couldn’t beat you.”

Michael felt tears in the corners of his eyes and he looked up at the ceiling to blink them away.  “Ryan, get home safely please.  We’ll talk again tomorrow, you’re not thinking straight.”

“Always thinkin’ straight.  I—hey Devon!  How’d find me?  No, man ‘m good, talkin’ to Mikey.  Wait—hey—gimme that—”

Michael heard the phone click and sank down on the couch, covering his face with a cushion.  He heard steps on the staircase before he heard his mom’s voice drifting into the room, calling his name.

“Michael?” Michael finally removed the cushion from his face and looked up when his mom was right in front of him.  “I thought I heard talking down here, did you have friends over?”

Michael shook his head slightly.  “No, just on the phone.”

His mom stared down at him and then plopped down beside him.  She didn’t say anything for the longest time, just let Michael lay his head on his shoulder and it was almost like he was a little kid again.

“I’m not going to ask what happened,” his mom started, “cause I think that when you’re ready you’ll tell me.  But I just think that—”

And she said the words and Michael thought that he might cry, cause wasn’t that just the truth.

**V.** “You two look happy.”

It was the summer of Rio and Michael was hanging out under Ryan’s tent.  It was weird being at the Olympic Games without having to think swimming or wear his headphones or listen to last minutes instructions from Bob, but Michael thought that he preferred it this way.  He was sprawled out on a lawn chair, watching Ryan stretch lazily.  It was still hours from Ryan’s first swim, but the two of them had always liked getting there early.

Both Debbie and Ike were in the tent too.  The two women had always been close—apart from the few moments when their sons were competing against one another—and it was only natural that Ike asked Debbie to help her make signs and T-shirts.

Michael stared at Ryan until the other man finally looked up from his stretches and met his gaze.  He grinned, and watched the grin spread over Ryan’s face as well.  It was a good year.  They had both agreed on that.  It had been a damn good year.

It was only a few days after Ryan’s call that Michael decided that he didn’t particularly like sitting around his loft, waiting for his life to happen.  He didn’t want to wait for someone else to fall into his life and make him forget about Ryan Lochte (in any case, he didn’t really think that was possible).  Not anymore.  Not when Ryan Lochte made him feel like he was on fire and like the world didn’t even matter so long as he never had to leave their bed.  Not when Ryan Lochte made him want to spend the rest of his life trying to be a better man.

Michael flew down the day before the New Year.  His mom wasn’t too happy with the idea at first—since it was his nephew’s first new year and she had wanted to spend it all together as a family—but with one word (“Ryan”), Debbie nodded and kissed him goodbye.

He wasn’t sure if just showing up at Ryan’s door was a good idea.  Ryan hadn’t been lying earlier.  He was cutting down on the drinking and partying—cause there was only so much you could take as you got older—but it was New Year’s Eve and everyone went out and partied on New Year’s Eve.  He rang the doorbell and waited and hoped, rubbing his hands together to keep them warm.

After the third time he pressed the buzzer, when he was just about to give up and turn around, Ryan opened the door, looking cozy in his scarf and t-shirt.  He was grinning, a healthy flush to his cheek, and the house smelled like cinnamon.

“Mike.”  Michael wouldn’t say that the grin dropped off Ryan’s face when he saw Michael, but it certainly dampened a bit.  But not like the situation was unpleasant.  Just more like it was unexpected.  Maybe uncomfortable.  “Hi.”

“Hey.”

Ryan looked back inside, at the mumbles of conversation floating towards the entrance, and then stepped out, closing the door behind them.

“So, no going out tonight?  So unlike you, Reezy.”  Michael felt the familiar nickname roll off his tongue like it was nothing.

Ryan smiled, still looking uneasy.  A little unsure.  “Yeah, first time since I was like 14 man.  Didn’t feel up for it tonight, so me and Jones just got a bunch of the swimmers at UF together to just hang out.  I think Devon invited a couple people too.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“Yeah.”  Ryan shifted from foot to foot, licking his lips as he looked up at Michael.  Finally:  “Listen man, about that night a few days ago.  I didn’t mean to—”

“No, don’t worry—”

“—bother you.”

“Yeah.”

The two of them just stood there, in the chilly air.  Michael watched Ryan, looked at the freckles on his nose, the sparkle in his blue-green eyes, and almost wanted to cry cause the years had changed everything, but this was still his Doggy.  When he noticed Ryan start to squirm and saw that look in his eyes that told him that Ryan would soon pat him on the back and act like Michael Phelps showing up in the middle of night on New Year’s Eve was not a big deal, he grabbed Ryan’s arm and pulled him closer.

“I didn’t tell you before—but I was never really over you either.”

They were close enough that Michael could count Ryan’s eyelashes.  He watched Ryan swallow and grab onto his shirt.  He pulled back even closer.

“How could anyone ever be over you anyways?”  Michael murmured the words onto Ryan’s lips, cupping his hands around Ryan’s neck.  He felt Ryan’s fingers digging into the skin at his waist.

“Is that why you came all the way down here like a sappy romantic?”  Ryan grinned his ear-splitting grin, eyes never leaving Michael’s lips.

“I came all the way down here, cause I think that we should fuck as the ball drops.”  Michael rolled his hips to emphasize his point, and smiled at the look on Ryan’s face.  Ryan’s eyes had gone dark and there was really nothing else to say.  Ryan smashed their lips together, tugging at Michael’s shirt so hard that he thought that it might tear.

Michael moaned into Ryan’s mouth and kissed him back with all the ferocity that 6 years apart had built.  There were only two things Michael thought of then: one, how incredibly, mind-bogglingly stupid he had been since Beijing, and two, that being too close to Ryan Lochte would still make him feel that he’s not close enough.

Ryan pushed him back against the wall and gasped and attacked his mouth and drew out sounds from Michael that he was almost ashamed to admit.  Ryan had his hands all over Michael’s body and Michael felt like he could melt right there on Ryan’s doorstep.

“I—really—missed—you,” Ryan muttered, between peppering kisses along Michael’s neck and jawline.  Michael grabbed Ryan’s shoulders to keep himself upright.  His dick throbbed.

“Me too,” Michael managed to say out loud, carding his fingers through Ryan’s hair.

They managed to straighten themselves out after grinding on each other like horny teenagers for a half hour.  (“No,” Ryan said, as Michael’s breath picked up and he reached for Ryan’s belt.  Ryan pulled back, and Michael had inevitably followed his mouth as he pulled away.  “We’re not gonna do this for the first time in ages in a dark corner against a wall.”  Ryan panted as he said it and Michael’s hand was still wrapped around Ryan’s neck.  Michael swallowed, and swallowed again, and nodded.  They stepped back and Michael tried to think of anything to ease his erection away—although it proved nearly impossible.)

“It’s going to be so awkward explaining what the hell you’re doing here,” Ryan said, just as he was about to open the front door.  He looked up at Michael, and Michael looked back—and both of them started laughing.

“C’mere,” Michael murmured and pulled Ryan back for one more kiss.  It was tender, unlike the first one.  Like something that will last.

It was easy enough explaining himself to the swimmers that didn’t really know Ryan or him very well.  He just said that Ryan had invited him earlier and he was just able to fly in—and they nodded and asked him for his autograph.  It was harder with people like Cullen and Ricky and Allison and Missy—all of whom stared at Michael like they’d just seen a ghost.  (“Dude, what the hell are you doing here?” Cullen asked, while giving Michael a hug.  Michael just shrugged and sat down with the lot of them.  They relaxed after a while, but their faces still held questions.  As far as they knew, Michael and Ryan hadn’t gotten along since Beijing.)

When it was 11 o’clock, Ryan took his arm and dragged him to his room.  He pushed Michael back against the closed door. Michael instantly felt himself get hard, as Ryan ran his hands under his shirt.  Shirts off.  Fumbling with the belt buckles.  Hints of laughter, a few moans and groans and gasps, as Ryan touched Michael in the right place or when Michael kissed the spot that still made Ryan shudder.  Michael pushed Ryan back to his bed, and tumbled on top of him, never letting the other man go.  He kissed his chin, his neck, his chest, taking in every noise that dropped from Ryan’s lips, memorizing every curve in his body, every indent.  When Ryan finally pulled him back up and muttered, almost under his breath, a quiet “Fuck me”, Michael couldn’t obey fast enough.

Michael thought he might have heard the echoes of people counting down to midnight, but he honestly didn’t remember.  He didn’t even remember exactly when the New Year began, he was so completely wrapped up in Ryan.

What he did know was that when he woke up the next morning, the first thing he saw was Ryan’s dark brown hair and the freckles on Ryan’s shoulder.  Michael grinned and rolled to his side.  He grabbed the nearest item of clothing he could find (a shirt) and dangled the end above Ryan, laughing when the man wrinkled his nose.  Ryan finally awoke with a start and slapped the shirt away, lightly punching Michael on the shoulder.  Michael laughed even harder, and leaned in to kiss Ryan good morning.

They decided not to make anything official.  They were both so bad at relationships and anything real, that both of them thought that it’d be best if they took it slow.  They agreed to simply spend time together at first.  Go out and do things as friends—go surfing, hang out at bars, and have dinner.  No labels.

Summer of 2015, Ryan told him that he loved him and there was no question after that.

“Zoning out again?” Michael blinked and saw Ryan standing over him, his lips an easy smile, swim trunks laying low over his hips.  It would be so easy to just pull them down and suck him off right there.

“You know me,” Michael grinned, sitting up.  He crossed his legs under him.

Ryan looked down at the space Michael had made for him and shook his head.  “Sorry, man, I gotta go.  Greg’s been texting me for like a half an hour to meet him.  I think he’ll skin me alive if I put it off any longer.”

Michael nodded and stood up.  “Well, don’t you want your kiss good luck?”  He put his hand subtly on Ryan’s arm and pretended to lean in for a really elaborate kiss.  Ryan rolled his eyes and laughed.

“Fuck you man, our parents are right there.”  His fingers lingered on Michael’s chest.

Michael looked over Ryan’s shoulder to where Debbie and Ike were arguing about what colors to put on the shirts.  His mom noticed him looking and waved, a grin lighting up her face.

Michael looked back at Ryan.  “Guess you’re right, Reezy.  Looks like you won’t be getting a kiss after all.”

Ryan shrugged, and entwined his fingers with Michael’s.  He looked up, his eyes dancing when they met Michael’s.  Michael looked back, and it could’ve been just the two of them there at that point cause Michael honestly didn’t notice anything else.  Finally, Ryan thumped both their hands against Michael’s chest and winked.

“Alright, I’ll see you, old man.”

“Good luck Reezy.  Love you.”  He added the last part quietly, in case anyone nearby could’ve heard the words.

Ryan grinned, looking back.  “Love you too, MP.  Now go cheer for me.”

Michael was so busy watching Ryan walk away that he almost didn’t notice his mom come up and stand beside him.  She watched as Ryan walked away as well, and then turned to Michael.  “You two look happy.”

Michael jumped and started at the words.  It had been a year, maybe more, since they had started dating, but they still hadn’t told anyone.  They just thought it was better that way.  The less people involved, the less potential drama, the less they needed to worry about.  But as Michael watched his mom—her calm demeanor, the way that she had just said it a matter of fact—he realized that maybe she had known the whole time.

Michael relaxed and put his arm around Debbie’s shoulder.  “Yeah, we are.” 


End file.
